Crimson and Ayōxōchitl’s

When the sun starts to set early. 

The pumpkins began to bloom. 

The chill in the wind is no longer a retrieve from the heat. 

And the abuelas make chocolate caliente. 

That is the time when we make ofrendas to our loved ones that have passed

That is the season of skeletal blooms and trees

My favorite season to just be

They saw him waiting at the far bank—still and spectral—flames flickering around him. His footprints weren't wet but inverted puddles, the water bending upward, as if resisting the touch of his bones. Kamelotl stepped forward first, staring into the glow.

"He's… an axolotl," he whispered, eyes widening as the orange ashlight flared in his gills. "Like us."

The Xoloitzcuintli stood tall now, not just canine but carved from myth—his skeletal legs inverted like a canine spirit moving backward through time. As they neared, his fur shifted, transforming with every step—like an alebrije, vibrant, chaotic, divine. His mask was forged from the bones of hounds, painted in the style of sugar skulls, each eye socket flickering with spectral fire.

The flames began to dance in the river around them—blossoms of fire taking the shape of cempoalxōchitl, lilies, and ocote blooms. Each pawprint behind him left a puddle of fire, and in those puddles—eyes opened.

The flames danced.

Not with chaos—but rhythm.

They followed him to shore, watching each print of fire ripple outward like a memory trying to rise from water. The inverted puddles at his feet flickered into reflections—not of the present, but of the past, of her. Of him. Of them.

Before they could focus too long, they heard a howl.

Then another.

And another.

Until it became a cacophony—a chorus of sorrow and summoning, calling not just to the sky but to something buried within the marrow of their own bones.

The chant began to form.

"Xólotl… Xólotl… Xólotl…"

It wasn't just a name. It was a drumbeat of soul. A forgotten rhythm remembered by the dead, and from it—he began to glow. A sacred light—not fire, not ashlight, but twilight. The color between day and death.

Lightning cracked. The flames turned to blossoms. And in the puddles now—they saw eyes. The eyes belonged to him.

From the east, Tonatiuh rose.

The golden eagle, radiant and devouring, blessed the realm of Mictlan. With the arrival of the sun, the shift changed. It was now the night guard's duty to protect the path of light.

Xólotl raised his head.

And howled—a howl soaked in remorse.

Then, for the first time, he spoke:

"If you wish to know the secret your heart desires…

you must fend off a Tzitzimime

as Cuauhtémoc rises through this realm."

The silence that followed was broken by motion.

From the sky—they fell.

The Tzitzimime.

Bone-winged. Haloed in obsidian rings.

Eyes like starfire. Hungry.

They rushed out from above and below, clawing through shadows to devour—

Until they stopped.

Xólotl stood between them and the two young souls.

They didn't speak his name.

They only looked. Gazed. Trembled.

Then one sneered. "What can a fallen one do to us?"

That's when the twilight came.

Not light.

Not flame.

Twilight.

It spread from his ribcage, pouring like breath from an unseen wound. It painted the world in silence and awe.

The Tzitzimime hissed—but did not flee. One approached the boys.

She was lean. Glorious. Crowned in jaguar bone and fragments of constellations.

And then… she smiled.

"Well if it isn't the shadow chained to the sun, what right does a fallen star have to shine before us little one." She said mockingly. 

Xólotl didn't answer. He simply released his twilight—a sacred light, soft as moon-glow, but pulsing with rhythm. It shimmered around him, holding the Tzitzimime back.

But then, he stepped aside. 

"Let them be tested," he said, voice low, almost kind. "Let them earn the knowledge they seek."

The Tzitzimime moved forward. One woman, beautiful and terrifying, cloaked in stars and thorns, approached Cenotlatlacatl and Kamelotl.

Her presence; overwhelming, like looking at the vast expanse of darkness in the night sky. Beautiful and terrifying all at once. She robbed the air around them of scent, even the aroma hailing from the ancient river Aponoayan. For a second even their heartbeats seemed to stop. In this pure terror they felt, they prayed that their ashlight would save them. 

In the next moment their prayers were answered through a now familiar glow. Sickly green and a warm orange, like the season of Cuāuhcuīltic. When the leaves fall from trees and the ayõxochitl bloom. The pumpkins that they grow from are always comforting and give a sense of wonderment. At this very moment that's how Cenotlatlacatl felt seeing that color bloom from the pattern on Kemolotl. Comforted. 

They could now move once again and even the aroma of the river returned to them. It wasn't pleasant to begin with but they breathed it in nonetheless. Just grateful to have a sense of smell again.

They gathered up their courage with each breath and met her eyes. Or at least the darkness swirling around where eyeballs would be. 

She cackled and seized them up, "I will give you a chance. Answer this riddle of mine and you will be a step closer to what you desire. Fail and well, you'll be joining the drowned and the ones who were abusive to the hounds at the bottom of the river."

They hurriedly agreed to her request, nodding their heads to the point of looking like chickens pecking the ground. 

She once again cackled that horrid sound and began her riddle. In a voice that sounded like it was trying to imitate a sing song melody.

"One god fled. One god fell. One god bled. You walk in the shadow of all three. What object is casting the shadow you tread upon."

Silence followed. The flowers of flame flickered gently.

Xólotl watched—the silent witness, the guide returned from bone and fire. They looked around them, nervous. So many things to see, overwhelming their senses. They looked at the patterns on each other's faces. Then at the silent guard hound, the captivating flames around him, dancing along his fur as well. Then they looked to the west, where the sun was descending. 

Witnessing for himself the sun in descent reminded Cenotlatlacatl of the stories of the elders in what seemed a lifetime ago. The story of the fifth sun and the sacrifices that took place in order to bring it to life. The story of a hound fleeing for his life because he refused to be a sacrifice. His ability to transform, granting him escape till he took the form of an Axolotl, where he was caught and thrown into the sun. 

He turned to look at the Xoloitzcuintli that had made their crossing possible.

"Xolotl…" he said out loud. "So that means he must be the god that fled." Xolotl locked eyes with him and smiled in bitter acceptance. 

Suddenly a bright crimson light tore through the realm, like an upside down bridge. Where the sun seemed to be traveling through the underworld. 

"Huitzilopochtli" Cenotlatlacatl muttered "The god that bled."

His eyes shined with assurance. He looked at Kamelotl and said "Trust in me, I have the answer right this time."

Kamelotl asked, "What's the answer this time?"

"The same answer we gave last time."

They locked eyes and a mad laugh escaped them. It made no logical sense, and really seemed to be irritating the Tzitzimime. So they composed themselves, and with as much seriousness as they could muster. They finally answered…

"The Sun!"

The world turned pitch black for a second, they thought this must be what mictlan looks like to the dead. Then they were staring at Xolotl, with his flames dancing. They looked around and saw everything was the same. The only thing missing was the Tzitzimime.